


Monday Night

by MsMxyzptlk



Category: Jahar Tsarnaev
Genre: Boston Marathon bombing, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Slight Choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8487328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMxyzptlk/pseuds/MsMxyzptlk
Summary: I didn't think I'd write another one of these. But this story just poured out of me. 
Something is different about him in this story. Can you guess what it is?





	

My heart pounded against my breastbone as if it were a door it was trying to knock down, then run through as fast as it could.

I felt like running, too. Running out of this reality as fast as my legs would take me. Because now, this reality sucked.

Two bombs had gone off near the finish line of the Boston Marathon that afternoon. On Gawker, they wrote of blood and body parts on Boylston Street. Death and maiming on Boylston Street. This day, which was supposed to be one of joy and triumph, had become a horror movie.

_No one is safe. Not even the most harmless and innocent among us._

Right now, I needed my love next to me. I needed him to hold me, kiss me, show me he was still alive and well.

I needed my Jahar.

He had been in Cambridge this weekend, staying with his family in their old apartment as he usually did. When the bombing happened, I sent him a text right away. He didn’t answer until hours later.

  
_im ok. im fine_   
_ill be home soon_   
_don’t worry babygirl_

It was past 10 p.m., and he still hadn’t returned to campus. He’d said we’d get together and hang out in his dorm room that night. When he said “hang out,” we both knew what that really meant. Especially when his roommate wouldn’t be back until Tuesday.

It was the worst day in the history of Boston, and I had to admit I needed far more than hugs and kisses from my love.

I sat on the steps in front of the door to his dorm building. I kept my eyes on the lights marking the path in front of me, waiting for the right figure to come out of the darkness.

A campus security guard came by and asked if I was okay. I said I was fine, I was waiting for my boyfriend to meet me. The guard said he wouldn’t be too far. 

I was grateful that someone was watching out for me. I was a girl sitting alone outside after dark, a tender morsel of prey to tempt skulking predators.

Jahar would come soon, and he would tuck me safely away in his dorm room.

He would come soon.

_He would come..._

I closed my eyes and licked my lips, tasting the memories of that word.

Something tapped my foot.

“Hey.”

I opened my eyes and saw two long legs encased in wrinkled black denim. I looked up.

Jahar stood in front of me. He wore a thin black jacket with gray lining, a dark blue T-shirt, and a white Polo baseball cap with the bill behind his head. He gave me a modest, thin-lipped smile.

“Jahar!” I leapt up and hugged him as if he were the greatest present I’d ever received.

He was.

“I’m so glad you’re here. When I heard about the bombing, I got so scared. I worried that you were there like you were last year – ”

“I wasn’t there.”

“I’m so happy – ”

“I wasn’t _there_ , babygirl. Don’t you worry about that.”

He squeezed my shoulders.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

Jahar used his school ID card to get into the building, because he was the one who lived there. We walked into the elevator and let the doors close behind us.

“The bombing...” I shook my head. I couldn’t help myself. I needed to unload the day’s anxiety to my human safe space. “Who would do something like this? Today, of all days?”

“Horrible things happen every day in this world. You can’t think that America’s an exception.”

“They didn’t deserve this.”

“They don’t deserve it on the other side of the world, either.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Look, let’s not talk about this right now, okay? My head’s not into it.”

I lowered my head, feeling my bottom lip stick out as it did when my wants were thwarted. It wasn’t like Jahar to dismiss me so abruptly.

The elevator doors opened, and we walked the steps to Jahar’s room. The door had been decorated by the RA who, for some strange reason, stuck Post-Its shaped like preening turkeys on the door. Jahar called them “jive” turkeys.

He opened the door and led me inside. He followed behind me and closed the door firmly shut behind us.

The only light in the room came through the spaces between the vertical blinds which hung down the only window. It was an amalgam of path light and moonlight. I could barely see the desk lamp on Jahar’s study table. I reached for it, but he pulled me back.

“Leave it.”

I turned to face him, but he grabbed my shoulders.

“Don’t look at me right now.”

“What?”

“Just don’t look at me right now. Until I tell you to.”

“Ummm...okay?”

He’d never asked that of me before. In our “hanging out” moments, in our intimate moments, it was joy to look at his classically beautiful face, a face as soft and guileless as a sculpture of a Greek youth, and dark brown eyes filled with dreams and hopes, twin universes I’d gotten lost in more than once.

How could I be with him without looking at him?

“Take off your clothes.”

That was a familiar request. Even if the chilly tone of his voice wasn’t.

I unzipped my red, university-branded hoodie and hung it over his chair. I peeled off my thin, light pink V-neck shirt which struggled to cover my breasts. It was one of Jahar’s favorite shirts, for obvious reasons.

I bent over to take down my leggings.

“Jahar,” I asked, “do you want to put on some music?”

“No.”

“You sure?” I instinctively turned my head towards him.

“ _Don’t_ look at me.”

“Sorry.”

Now I was only wearing a bra and panties, a pale purple set I had purchased at Target long ago. I could hear him breathing behind me, feel his body heat stroking my skin.

“Are you going to take your clothes off, too?”

“Don’t worry about that. Get all the way naked.”

I reached behind me to unclasp my bra. It felt funny – he was usually the one to take care of that.

_For some reason, he doesn’t want to touch me right now._

When I was all the way naked, I asked,

“What now?”

“Get on my bed on all fours.”

I crawled on top of Jahar’s bed, which had its blanket halfway off as if he’d just gotten out of it, supporting myself on my forearms and shins.

“Stick your ass in the air. Way up in the air.”

I did, carefully stifling a romance-killing fart. Once again, I turned my head to see what Jahar was doing.

“Did I say you could turn your head?”

The tone of his voice chilled my blood. In all the time I’d known him, I’d never heard him speak with this voice, as sharp and as cruel as that of an overseer on an antebellum plantation.

It was a voice I couldn’t disobey.

_What would he do if I did face him? He wouldn’t hurt me. No, he wouldn’t. He can’t!_

_But I don’t want to risk it._

I heard him move behind me until his jeans touched the soles of my feet. Then, the unmistakable sound of a zipper slowly coming down.

“Mmmm.” I smiled and opened my thighs. “The gates are open, Jahar.”

“Be quiet,” he hissed.

Be quiet? The last time I told him the gates were open, he laughed and replied that the chariot was coming through.

“Fucking shaytan,” he muttered under his breath.

Shaytan? What did that mean? Was the word an insult?

An insult directed at me?

Jahar’s left hand came down upon my left buttock, so hard that it stung. His fingers dug into the tender, spongy fat beneath my skin. (“Soft fluffy buns/Soft fluffy buns/My sweet babygirl/Gots soft fluffy buns,” he sang on an occasion when we were alone at his friends’ off-campus apartment. “Now here’s the beef.”)

He had no song for me tonight. Just a piggish grunt, and then a sudden, unprepared-for penetration.

I wasn’t bone-dry; I still had some anticipatory arousal from the Jahar-less weekend. Still, I wished he had demonstrated the care he had from day one.

_You can’t just break into the gates. You have to coax them open with a gentle finger. You’ve got to turn the key to open the lock._

He didn’t tonight. He just broke right in without using the key. The tip of his penis bounced off the entrance to my womb, causing a little pain. I squeaked.

“I said. Be. _Quiet_.”

Jahar proceeded to fuck me. That was the one and only word for it. It wasn’t an expression of love; it wasn’t a spiritual or transcendent experience. It was fucking. The same thing cats and dogs and horses did. 

He didn’t want to see my face. He didn’t want to hear my words. All he wanted was his dick in my pussy. Dick + pussy = fucking.

_He’s using me like a toilet_ , I realized. _A bucket to empty himself in. No more._

Tears swelled up in my eyes. How could he be so cold – and on this night, of all times, when I needed his tenderness the most?

What had gotten into him?

I felt his hand wrap around my shoulder. It slid up to the back of my neck...then squeezed. Hard.

I let out a small choking sound, then panicked over Jahar hearing it. He didn’t act like he did – he just kept on squeezing my neck until I was fighting for air.

Then he let go.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

When the point of no return arrived, when Jahar began to thrust harder and faster, emitting growling sounds, I did not feel the shared joy and anticipation that I usually did – the joy of seeing and feeling him pleased, the joy of knowing that it was me who did that to him.

Now, I was just glad it was almost over.

Jahar grunted as if he were pushing something huge out of his body, something huge and gross and unwanted. Then, he pulled out of me quickly and stepped back.

I took the opportunity to change my position and sit down on the edge of the bed. Getting out of that subservient stance emboldened me. I reached down my throat and found my voice again.

“Jahar...what was _that_ all about?”

He sat down on the bed next to me. He reached into his jacket – he hadn’t even taken it off – and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights. Smoking was expressly forbidden inside dorm buildings, but he didn’t give a damn right now. He lit his cigarette, inhaled, blew his smoke through his nose.

“Sometimes...I need something different.”

“Something ‘different.’ Really.”

I looked into his lap. He’d only unzipped his jeans. His limp, moist penis stuck out of his boxers. For the first time ever, I thought the sight of it was unlovely.

“You weren’t just different. You were a whole other person. A person...who scared me.”

He put his cigarette on the edge of his desk.

“Babe. Girl.”

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

“I’m sorry that I worried you. I don’t ever want to worry you. Girls should think happy thoughts. Like kittens. And bunny rabbits.”

He tickled my chin, and I laughed. At last.

“But what is shaytan?”

He stroked the hairs on his chin with his fingers.

“It is the Muslim word for Satan.”

“Why would you say that before we...um...did it?”

“I’m sorry. The bombing made its way into my head.”

Now he looked into my eyes. Even in the darkness, I could see a simmering anger inside of him.

“Things like that happen when shaytan is in control.”

“It’s hard to argue with that.”

“But don’t think of horrible things tonight, babygirl.” The sparkle came back to his eyes. “Kittens. Bunny rabbits.”

I imagined him as a fluffy, lop-eared bunny snuggling up to me, the tiny kitten. It felt good.

I kissed his nose.

“You.”

Jahar smiled – finally.

“Us.”

We crawled into his narrow dorm bed and snuggled into each other. If his roommate caught us the next morning – who cared? 

We clung hard into the present. The past was done with. The future would come soon enough.

I was ready for it...as long as Jahar remained Jahar. With him by my side, life could not go completely wrong.

Right?


End file.
